


Back in My Little Town

by GhostOfDorothyStreet



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-21
Updated: 2018-03-21
Packaged: 2019-04-05 09:01:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14040774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GhostOfDorothyStreet/pseuds/GhostOfDorothyStreet
Summary: 32 Kirby Road.$88,000.Three bed, one and a half bath.17,000 square feet.Full basement.Detached two car garage.It sounded so innocuous on paper...(Nygmobblepot Week Day Three - Hurt/Comfort)





	Back in My Little Town

32 Kirby Road.

$88,000.

Three bed, one and a half bath.

17,000 square feet.

Full basement.

Detached two car garage...

It sounded so innocuous on paper.

It looked fairly innocuous in person too. Dark empty windows, worn sidings, crabgrass on the front lawn… An ordinary little run down suburban house, on an ordinary little run down suburban street, in an ordinary little run down suburb of Gotham

But just looking at it made something go cold in Ed’s stomach.

He folded up his copy of the property section of the Gotham Gazette, and tucked it into the pocket of his jacket.  When he’d read the listing, he’d dismissed it at first as a mistake, a trick of his mind. He hadn’t thought about the old place in years; had consciously avoided thinking about ever since he turned 18 and made good his escape to the city. But there it was, in blurry black and white newsprint.

And there it was in full colour.

He tapped on the ‘sold’ sign as he walked past it on the way up to the front porch. He opened the front door with the keys the realtor gave him, the way they jangled on the cheap plastic keychain far too loud in his ears as he stepped over the threshold into cold, stale air.

He stopped, feet feeling too heavy to move.

The house was empty, clearly had been for some time, but far too much of it was exactly as he remembered it.

The faded yellow wallpaper, stripe pattern barely perceptible where the sun had bleached it in squares opposite the windows. Textured ceiling, a little tacky when it had been put in and hopelessly outdated 30 some years later. The greenish grey carpet, colour more vibrant where the sofa and table had been.  

A smell of cigarettes and take out and cheap rum that couldn’t be real, but which filled his nostrils none the less.

He swallowed thickly, forced his legs to move.

Stepping further into the room, he got closer to the darker patch of carpet where the table had been.

Close enough to catch sight of a dark stain on the carpet.

The rusted colour of old dried blood.

His whole body felt numb, his chest tight and his tongue like sandpaper in his mouth…

He felt a phantom pain in the side of his head, as the world shrank around him to black.

***

“Ed!”

Oswald looked around the shabby back yard of the house and threw his hands up in exasperation. Ed had promised to be an hour at most, and Oswald had been happy to wait in the car to give him the space he needed. However, when he hadn’t seen or heard from Ed in almost two hours, he’d decided to take matters into his own hands, only to find that Ed was nowhere inside the building.

He called Ed’s name again, and this time heard a faint voice from above him.

“I’m up here.”

He looked up in the direction Ed’s voice, noticing for the first time a small, battered looking tree house lodged in a large gnarled oak tree at the far end of the yard. A makeshift ladder of boards was nailed to the trunk, stopping just short of reaching the entrance, and Oswald's knee throbbed in anticipation of having to try and climb up it.

He stood at the base of the tree and called Ed's name once more, a little plaintively, knowing full well he was unlikely to get a response.

He sighed resignedly.

The things he did for love...

 For most of the way up the tree he was able to rely on his arms for the bulk of the work, but near the top where the boards tapered off, it became clear that his impaired balance wasn't going to let him get into the tree house without some assistance.

"A little help, Ed?"

Ed's voice drifted down from somewhere inside the tree house.

“What room can no one enter?”

Oswald rolled his eyes in frustration.

“ _This one_ if you don’t give me a hand.”

Ed’s face appeared over the edge of the platform, and he extended his hand to help him heave himself up. As Oswald clambered gracelessly into the tree house, Ed sat back down, laying back in the dust and staring up at the wooden ceiling.

“It was a mushroom,” he said, flatly. "That's the password."

Oswald sighed, and sat down gingerly next to him, stretching his leg out to try and avoid it cramping up on him.

“Of course it was.”

He looked down at Ed's pale face and red rimmed eyes, and his heart clenched in sympathy. He hadn't been certain that Ed's decision to buy his childhood home had been a wise one, and looking at him he was even more certain than ever that he had been correct in his misgivings.

He opened his mouth to say something, but was beaten to it by Ed, speaking in a dejected monotone.

“I thought that coming here would help me find some kind of closure. Perspective maybe,” He rolled over onto his side, facing Oswald but not really looking at him, his eyes glassy behind the lenses of his glasses. “I thought that if I took ownership of the building, then in some way I could reclaim my past. Shape it into what I wanted.”

He looked up at Oswald properly then, a desolate look deep in his eyes.

“Stupid, right?”

Oswald shook his head, and reached out to stroke a strand of dusty hair back from Ed’s forehead.

“Not at all,” he said, softly, giving Ed a small smile, “I know all about reclaiming things that hurt you. It was worth trying.”

Ed sat up, running a grimy hand over his face and rubbing at his eyes under his glasses.

“As attempts go it wasn’t terribly successful,” his voice was hoarse, as though he’d been crying, “Standing in that room again, even empty… I couldn’t breathe. Honestly I don’t even remember coming up here.”

“Yes, I was wondering about that,” Oswald looked around the room; at makeshift furniture and words scrawled on the rough wooden walls in neat but childish handwriting. Familiar handwriting. “This place was yours?”

Ed nodded, sniffling and rubbing at his nose.

“My father built it for me. One of his bright ideas to make me into a ‘real boy’,” he snorted, bitterly, “I think he had visions of me having a gang of friends up here like something out of a 50s family sitcom. Sleepovers and smores and a sign that says ‘no girls allowed’. Much to his disappointment I mostly just, hid out up here with my books. I didn’t have any friends to invite up.”

Oswald shuffled closer, and laid his arm around Ed’s shoulder.

“You have one now,” he said, quietly, “though I dare say I’m probably not the kind of friend your late father would have approved of.”

That drew a genuine smile from Ed.

“That’s part of the appeal,” he said, voice less deadened, bordering on teasing, “he wouldn’t have approved of this either…”

He leaned in and kissed Oswald softly on the lips, and despite the fact that he knew it would ruin his suit, Oswald let himself be pushed gently onto his back with a sigh of relief.

***

“Definitely not the sort of thing my father had in mind…”

Oswald chuckled and cuddled closer to Ed, fingers stroking over his exposed chest through the open front of his shirt.

“From what you’ve told me of him I’m only too glad to disappoint him.” He pressed a kiss to the side of Ed’s neck, his own open belt buckle clunking dully against the floor as he shifted more fully onto his side. “Feeling a little better?”

“Much,” Ed reached down and took Oswald’s hand, lacing their fingers together, “That place is just, nothing but bad memories. They’re in the walls, the foundations… I was never going to be able to make it anything but what it is.”

He sighed, rested his sweat damp forehead against Oswald’s.

“But that’s okay. I don’t need to reclaim my past when I have my present and future. I have a home, and a family I chose for myself… The house doesn’t matter.”

Oswald smiled, nudged his nose against Ed’s and kissed him softly.

“You know, Ed, I have an idea about the house that might just give you some closure. Not to mention suiting your sense of theatricality.”

Ed raised an eyebrow.

“I’m listening.”

Oswald’s smile became a wicked little grin.

“Well, before she passed on, Fish gave me what I consider to be an excellent piece of advice about claiming ownership of things. You either make it yours…” he walked his fingers up Ed’s chest and the side of his neck to cup his jaw, “Or you burn it to the ground.”

Ed grinned back, broad and shark like, and pulled Oswald on top of him.

“I like the way you think.”


End file.
